


Who's Afraid?

by YaminoTenshi202



Series: Lark and Nightingale [6]
Category: Guardians of Childhood & Related Fandoms, Guardians of Childhood - William Joyce, Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Arthur Schopenhauer - Freeform, Cliffhangers, Controversial Topics, Damn it Pitch, Don't scare him away!, Frederick Nietzsche, He's back, He's back too, Look! A human!, M/M, Original characters made their way to the Plot, Religious Content, Revenge, Spiritual, Sudden calm, This got worse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-16
Updated: 2013-12-12
Packaged: 2017-12-28 08:58:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/990165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YaminoTenshi202/pseuds/YaminoTenshi202
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fear wasn't the solution any-more, Pitch realised. It was a problem, because his love for Jack was proving to be dangerous for them both. The fear that Jack did not love him...</p>
<p>It was paralysing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Wer hat Angst vorm schwarzen Mann?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [The Black Ice Fandom](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=The+Black+Ice+Fandom), [Miss_Evening](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miss_Evening/gifts).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blood spills  
> And the Boeman drowns himself in it  
> Brush away the Guards  
> Let him drown in it
> 
> Let the Horsemen come  
> Dare to take away his love  
> His gentle little love  
> Who'd dare not speak his name
> 
> \- "The Boeman" by /moi/

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I'll add art to this series at some point. When I have time and motivation.

_What we do for love always takes place beyond good and evil_  
 _\- Friedrich Nietzsche_

* * *

He clawed away at the beast. His claws caught on the muscle and fur of the one who had harmed his love. He paid no mind as his hands were buried deep into the flesh of the last one of the Pooka race. He didn't care that his love would probably be so furious at him when he saw how much his friend - his supposed comrade - would be injured, as the _Boeman_ no longer could conceive a vague notion as to why his love would be with the other in camaraderie any longer.

No, his love was no more, only another forgotten snowflake that the Moonlight fell upon. At that thought, the _Boeman_ let the blood fill his mouth when another instinct told him to bare his fangs and imbed them deep, deep into muscles and scratching the bones. The other's knives were like pinpricks, like gentle drops of rain falling against his face. He let insults, curses, and begs for absolution, for mercy, spill into his mind and pool, congealing into the fuel for his anger.

How dare this creature exist, continue to exist when his lover was taken away! Why let this creature continue when there was no more reason to go on?! His jaws clamped down harder, not breaking the bones. The marrow in them was precious and he would save it for his meal. A meal fit for a dying King, he would have, in the honour of his love, his reason for being.

He heard more beings approach and he turned and roared at the bird-being, the star-being, and at the Worker. His mind called them "Guardians" before he felt fury overtake him again. He opened his mouth, jaws letting the flesh between them move. His claws pulled at fur and muscles. He could have sworn that a bone was shattering somewhere close, though not from his bites.

Pain suddenly ripped through his arms, something of metal - a sword - hitting his claws with its broad side. He relinquished the Pooka, panting heavily and trying to ignore the taste of blood in his mouth. His vision swam back from its red state and he saw a faerie, blue, green, and  _didn't she touch his love she deserved punishment_ and fierce-looking. He could  _taste_ the fear radiating from her, fear for her companions and fear for his love. He was somewhat pleased with that, though it increased his jealousy, drawing him to part his lips to speak.

" _Wer hat_..." his voice supplied. His throat was hoarse. The faerie stared at him, watching his movements and her hand tightening its grip on her blade. She answered back to him.

" _Was_?"

The tall Worker - North - looked at him with curiosity. He understood not what they were saying. How precious, the  _Boeman_ thought.

" _Wer hat Angst vorm schwarzen Mann_?"

_Who's afraid of the Bogeyman?_

The faerie came at him again, her blade ready to pierce through him. The  _Boeman_ caught her by the arm in mid-flight and he bared his fangs at her. His love had asked for this one to be spared. The others were still able to become targets for his wrath. North was still a target and-

Where did the Sandman disappear to?

He felt a puff of something land on his back. Prompted, the  _Boeman_ turned and gold sand flooded his vision, lulling him into a dream.

It was a happy one, one where he could still feel Jack's lips press against his, those same lips curling into a smile.

It was a happy one...

Right?

* * *

Niry-A-Na watched the battle from a distance, amused at the Guardians attempting to sabotage the Bogeyman's revenge. It was a nice distraction to watch and take comfort in. When Pitch Black fell victim to the Dream Sand, Niry-A-Na felt another of his comrades approach, stepping down from their horse.

"Jaya." Jaya-Iti came to stand beside him, the pine needles under her feet crunching beneath her weight.

"Get him. I've subdued and captured Jack Frost for you." Her spirits of conquest and plague rattled through her body when she was able to assert the power over the young Moon Creation. Jaya felt, however, that the Reaper, her dear Niry, had grown too jealous. What was so great about defying Kiran anyway?

"And I thank you." The Reaper strode forward, his steps silent. The Cloak of Night protected him, as it had a young lover once, from sight and it hid him as he changed form.

Jaya watched him as Niry-A-Na approached Jack Frost's body, feeling herself grow anxious. Their horses were growing agitated, especially Niry's.

After all...

 _She_ had claimed the young spirit, not the Grim Reaper.

* * *

Brown eyes opened and he was cold. Why was there snow upon the ground? He had only just been on the pond with his sister. He looked down at himself and saw that he was wearing some strange, blue short tunic. It clung close at his wrists and his waist, and frost decorated the edges of it. His crook was just inches from his hand.

"Hello, there."

The boy, Jackson, sat up in the snow and he saw a young woman, a black cloak draped across her shoulders. Wasn't this a girl from his village? Then he remembered his girl, Justice.

"Justice? Where-" The girl placed a finger to his lips.

"Let's go, boy. I'm not Justice Yates, by the way, but we need to leave." Jackson sat up in the snow, his eyes squinting against the howling wind that was sweeping snowflakes into his eyes. He saw a bloodied creature that surely came out of a fantasy, an unconscious man in black, and three beings that often were a main part of the stories he told his sister. They were speaking low, so he couldn't understand them. Something about a "pitch".

"Who-" An entire hand came to cover his mouth.

"Do you want to end up like that poor creature?" she hissed softly, pointing at the bloodied figure in the snow, which, Jackson realised, looked like a large rabbit.

"No."

"Follow me." The girl took an end of her cloak and gave it to him to hold. "Hold fast." She stood, beckoning him to stand.

"Why are you helping me, miss? You don't know me," he whispers. He doesn't stand, but he reaches for his crook. She turns.

"Well," she asks smiling, "what's your name?"

Something doesn't seem right with her smile.

"Tell me yours." She falters a bit, her lips twitching a bit at the corners.

She pauses, hesitant, almost unsure.

"Anna Hutchinson." Jackson shakes his head.

"That's not your name. I won't tell you mine." He pulls the cloak out of her grasp, off her body, and tosses it to the snow. Her eyes widen before filling with rage.

"You will tell me your name!" Jackson hears gasps nearby and he sees that Santa Claus, the Tooth Faerie, and the Sandman have turned towards them. The girl's voice alerted them to the interaction between herself and Jackson, and the Faerie came towards them quickly, scooping up Jackson from the snow.

"Jack! You're alive!"

He looked into bright violet eyes, bright gems that were gazing at him in concern and pure happiness. His heart jumped at the sight of the violet tint. Where was his cape, that his mother had worked on so long? He and the Faerie gasped as a blade came by them, the Faerie dodging the sharp metal just barely.

"Not for long," the black-haired girl called up to them. Santa Claus came forward, swords brandished. The girl, this harbinger of Death, blocked it with her scythe and managed to block the golden whips of the Sandman. The Tooth Faerie flew him over to be by the bloody rabbit - Hell, if she was the Tooth Faerie, this had to be the Easter Bunny - and the man in black, who didn't seem as intimidating close up.

Jack felt cold.

And so scared.

* * *

Pitch was awoken by a familiar fear.

A terror that he had felt before.

His dream of Jack against him disappeared and let him open his golden eyes. Snow was picking up and the Wind was still mourning, although for a different reason, one he couldn't ascertain. As he lifted his head, Pitch recognised Bunnymund, his fur soaked red in some places and he could see a flash of bone, its covering peeling a bit in the wind.

The terror in the air spiked again. He turned towards it and he felt his heart stop in his chest.

"Jack?"

The boy turned towards him, brown eyes meeting gold.

"... Who are you?"

* * *

Jaya pulled an arrow from the quiver on her back. Niry-A-Na was growing tired and soon, he would lose what he had fought to recapture from the Moon.

She pulled her arm back, the strings of her bow taut and strong.

The Wind was fighting her, but her Virgin Arrows, which had never pierced flesh, would find their target.

Their target being Jack Frost's heart.

"Say your name, child." Her whisper was drowned out by the horses, their nieghs of distress growing louder by each beat of her heart.

* * *

Pitch pushed himself to his knees, his chest painful.

"Do you not remember me?" The boy shook his head, his hair - brown, Pitch noticed - moving with the motion.

"I'm sorry..." Jack - or not Jack - looked down, guilt sagging his shoulders. He seemed genuinely distressed, frightened, and in desperate need of warmer attire.

"What's your name, if it's not Jack?" Pitch asked, seeing him shiver and pulling his arms from his robe sleeves. He moved to pull it over the boy-

* * *

Jaya let her arrow fly.

* * *

Niry had slashed through flesh, feathers and sand. Now only the Bogeyman was in his way.

* * *

"My name is..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title) Wer hat Angst vorm schwarzen Mann? - German. Literally "Who's afraid of the Black Man?" (Black Man being the Bogeyman) It's a children's game.
> 
> Boeman - The Bogeyman, or the Boeman, in the Netherlands, is a man in black who has sharp claws and fangs. He hides under beds or in closets. He takes bad children or those that refuse to sleep and locks them in his basement for a while. (But really. Let's use the claws~)
> 
> Niry-A-Na: This is the Grim Reaper, Death and the Fourth Horseman of the Apocalypse. He has the Cloak of Night - which hides him from sight (it also hid Romeo at one point, as said in Romeo and Juliet, Act II, scene 2) - and he can change his physical sex and appearance. This enables him to draw those on his List of the Dead close, letting him capture their souls and take them to Judgement. When he comes to take them, however, if they are at the age in which they understand that they have a name and accept that name, the dead must say it to Niry before he can take them.
> 
> Jaya-Iti: This is the First Horseman who embodies Conquest or Plague, depending on the system used; I decided to say that she represents both.  
> *Why a woman? The woman was originally seen as the protector of the home who wielded a weapon when necessary and managed everything aside from hunting (in the most equal of societies, the Hunter-Gatherers).
> 
> Justice - Well, we did mention Jack's future wife in "Dare Not Speak Its Name". Her name was Justice Yates, the daughter of a farmer. With Jack knowing dyes and how to herd livestock, they would have made a pretty good match.  
> *Justice - Death takes everyone, no matter class or status.  
> *Yates - "gate keeper"
> 
> Anne Hutchinson, née Marbury - (1591-1643) She was a Massachusetts Bay colonist who believed that it wasn't good works that got you into Heaven, but your spirit and belief in God. She was excommunicated by the Church and moved to what is now Rhode Island. Her family moved to New Netherlands, where natives killed the entirety of the Hutchinson family, save for Susanna, Anne's daughter.  
> *Anne was a midwife. Ironic or symbolic in Niry's case.
> 
> The Horsemen have been characters in my mind for almost eight years. It's nice to finally have a way to introduce them to the world.
> 
> Nietzsche - See "The Relationship" for very vague info about him. His quotes were first used in "Heartless" and were the theme in "The Relationship".


	2. Breathing Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life after Death  
> Then a Death after Death  
> And Life after Death
> 
> I wish the Reaper  
> Would make up his damn-  
> Mind me not
> 
> ...  
> Shit, he's sharpening his blade  
> I must be seeing things  
> It must be the ergot
> 
> I'm scared.
> 
> \- "Should be the Ergot" by /moi/

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A different type of summary. The OC's will be gone soon. Trouble in Paradise.

_  
After your death you will be what you were before your birth._ _  
__\- Arthur Schopenhauer_

* * *

Pitch felt the arrow sing by his shoulder, a golden wave of sand diverting it from its intended path towards his chest. He obeyed the instinct to dodge and cover Jack with his body, effectively hushing the boy who had cried out when the arrow had come by. The projectile had landed, instead, in the girl who had been talking to Jack. Blood was spilling onto the fresh snow, the Wind blowing some of the red fluid - black in the moonlight - onto Pitch's body.

It was burning in the cold.

He turned his head to the side to see the girl clutch her chest, hand wringing the fabric over her heart, the shaft of it extending between her finger. She coughed and angrily ripped out the offending object. She stared at the arrowhead, glaring at it with some confusion in her eyes. Pitch could feel her - _his -_ fear rising. Pitch heard the being whisper to the Wind, the Wind finally quieting down a bit in the light of these new events.

The Guardians approached Pitch, tired and beaten. Toothiana's wings were limp, her feet barely making prints in the snow under her light weight. Sandy was trying to help North stay upright, the man's sword only helping him just enough.

"Pitch? You saved Jack..." Tooth's mouth was slightly agape in wonder. If Pitch wasn't so drained of energy, wasn't busy holding Jack -  _not Jack_ \- he would have thrown some insults at her.

"R-Really now, Tooth?" Bunny's voice invaded the air.

All, the Guardians and Pitch, turned to the Pooka, whose flesh was healing now. His bone was no longer visible and his blood was drying on his fur. A large area that Pitch had bit into - the Bogeyman's stomach turned with anxiety at the thought - was covering itself in thick scabs and vines that seemed to appear from the holsters of his boomerangs were wrapping around the more serious of the wounds, attempting to bring Bunnymund's flesh together to allow it to heal faster.

"Bunny!" North called to his oldest friend, letting Sandy assist him over while Tooth quickly went to kneel at her comrade's side, mindful of his wounds.

"Bunny... You're hurt so badly." Tooth decided to say no more. She focused on keeping herself calm, adopting an expression that Pitch remembered seeing on the face of a queen that he knew millennia ago, pitying him - _Kozmotis_ \- in her last minutes ...

However, this gaze did not hold pity. It held respect.

"Ho-" Pitch looked down at not-Jack, who had uttered a sound and had then shushed himself. The boy's lips were growing to a more purple state and Pitch cursed aloud. He called up the shadows, his energy, to warm themselves around this child, watching as the boy held himself still at the sensation of warmth.

"Th-thanks," he whispered, curling into the shadows and closing his eyes.

"No problem." Pitch looked up to the Guardians. "Are we staying out here then, or shall I take Jack somewhere warmer-"

"No!" The black-haired girl was staring at the scene in front of her, seeing Jack alive and well. No longer was he ill. That could only mean that Jaya had not done her task correctly, or that she knew something else.

The Guardians were wary as a woman-archer approached the black-haired girl from the shadows of the evergreens. The archer knelt in front of her and shook her head.

"He's been claimed by  _her_ , Niry," the archer said, moving to pull her comrade up to to her feet. "Stop this now." She did not flinch as the smaller woman reached up to land a blow against her cheek, her palm making a resounding slap.

"I don't care if she has claimed him! That boy was on my list and Kirana broke him out, wiped his name from my list-"

"Who are you two?" North asked, coming slowly towards them, as though they would flee should he come on too strongly. The archer stood upright and gripped tightly onto Niry's hair, ignoring her hissing and the spitting of curses.

"I am Jaya-Iti of Conquest." She turned her head downward to Niry. "And this is Niry-A-Na of Death."

North nodded, seeming to understand who they were. "Horsemen, yes. Why come after Jack?"

"That is what I would like to know," Pitch muttered, holding the boy in his arms ever closer to his chest. He was shivering and Pitch could only look closer at him as a strange warmth seemed to spread between them.

"His name was in the Book of Life, the list of the dead that are granted salvation, and Kirana took him away. Mat-R claimed him as her child - she is the reason for what he had become!" Jaya-Iti let go of Niry-A-Na's hair and came close to Pitch, who was muttering words to the boy in his arms. Pitch looked up at her.

"What did you do?" He pulled away from the boy, allowing all to see that his sweater was turning black, blood seeping from a wound where his heart would be. He seemed unaware of the world, eyes closed tightly and shivering more strongerly than before.

"Niry-A-Na must take him. He does not belong here." Jaya-Iti looked down at Jack and closed her eyes. "He has suffered and you loved him greatly. Wouldn't it be nice if he could just take that with him and suffer no more?"

"No it would not," Pitch hissed. "It would not be good." He glared at the Horseman of Conquest as she grabbed Jack, who welcomed the touch, murmuring something akin to "mother".

"For you, it would be bad."

_For me?_

Shame washed over Pitch. Jaya-Iti gently pushed Pitch's hands away as she pulled Jack towards her, Toothiana coming to stand a defense in front of Bunny and argue for their keeping of Jack. The Bogeyman paid no mind.

* * *

_"Pitch, do you think that maybe..." Jack had bitten his lip after a nightmare, curling against Pitch and seeking solace. "Maybe my sister is still around? Not a Guardian, but a spirit maybe?"_

_"Have you seen any like her?" He had not meant to sound condescending, but it came out so._

_Jack was silent for the rest of the time they were awake together, only whispering "good night" when he let sleep overtake him again._

_After that, Jack would not go into explicit detail of his nightmares, just enough that Pitch would understand the basis of it and why it bothered him._

_No more pointless hoping that the frost spirit wasn't as alone and out of place in time as he felt._

* * *

He was keeping this lonely boy here, only wanting to keep him contained and drowned inside of his desires. Of course Jack would feel so much pain after regaining his memories. He had to deal with the fact that he had not recognised his mother or sister while they were alive. Jack had told him that he had seen his sister while she was an adolescent, an adult, a mother, and then a corpse buried in a white sac in a commoner's grave. What he remembered of his fiancée, it had been burned away when she had come down with a sickness that had had Jack vomiting blood for days as a boy, and as Jack Frost, he could only lay a hand on this stranger's forehead, watching over her as she passed away peacefully at the age of seventeen.

He had lost it all, as Pitch had, but this was a young spirit, almost an infant, compared to Pitch who had had millenia to live, to remember, to regret...

To overcome.

He had thought Jack strong, but he had never understood.

As Pitch lifted his head and saw Jaya-Iti turn, he felt pain in his chest.

_No_.

He stood up.

_Jack was strong. He is. They shouldn't have to decide that for him!_

He let himself fall into the shadow of a cloud and appeared in front of the Horseman. The Guardians stood behind her, Tooth standing in front of Bunnymund defensively. 

"That is not your decision to make."

Jack was shivering.

And he was scared.

Pitch dared to feel the fear and terror more deeply. He heard Jack's voice.

_"I don't want to die."_

He reached for Jack, not deterred by Jaya-Iti's glare.

"If you take him from my brother-" Jaya started, her grip on the boy tightening.

"Take him and you deal with me."

A rush of warmth came from behind Pitch and roots of evergreen trees rushed up from the ground, wrapping themselves around Jaya's legs. The Horseman cried out in surprise, her hold on Jack loosening. Pitch seized him, holding him to his chest and suddenly the wave of terror that he had been feeling dropped to a controllable anxiety.

Jack...

_Jackson_ was safe.

He remembered the warmth and he turned to see a face so similar to his own, the woman an epitome of natural and carnal beauty.

Niry-A-Na, who'd been quiet for so long, laughed in nervousness. The woman, her face stern and full of the rage of a hurricane, looked down at the Horseman of Death. His form faded into that of a man and he lowered his head, still laughing.

"Hello, Mat-R."

"The name I was given is Mother Nature. Do not equate me to you." Mother Nature came to Pitch, looking up into his eyes and then down at Jackson, who was feeling better now that he felt safe and warm. "This is the child that Kiran saved and I chose. You love him, I hear?"

The question was bordering on disbelief and concern.

"Yes."

North came forward, standing to the side off the two.

"Nature, we-"

"North. Not now please. I've words with my father that need saying." Nature laid a hand on Jackson's cheek, stroking the skin there.

"He has nothing that akins him to a spirit. He's mortal."

A cough rang in the air and Nature turned to Niry-A-Na. The man, or boy, hard to tell, looked up at her in curiosity.

"You will have him, Death. Seems not even the Moon can change his fate." Nature turned to her father.

"Do well with your time."

And she was gone, snowflakes dancing away into the breeze.

Pitch fell forward onto his knees and he heard Jaya-Iti giggling behind him.

"We have a conquest."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Ergot is a hallucinogenic mushroom. This is a likely culprit for the Salem Witch Hunts and Trials, which took place in Salem Village, Massachusetts (now Danvers). Some historians cast doubt on the theory. Jack would have, again, lived around this time period and would have heard news about witches in Massachusetts.
> 
> *The only reason the hunts stopped was because the mayor, who was in charge of the hunts, said to stop after someone accused his wife of being a witch. You couldn't really disprove being a witch; it's a Devil's proof that was often settled by testing one's ability to say prayers and sacraments. The one that gets to me about Jack and his death of drowning is that if you were called a witch and you floated in water, you were "proven" to be a witch and killed. Jack never had a chance ;-;
> 
> -Oh, Schopenhauer...
> 
> \- Niry-A-Na, being the Grim Reaper, is firm in how he takes the dead and this is what makes him so angry at MiM. He takes them to where they must go. If they go to Heaven, he waits for them to confirm that they are staying (this is almost always). If he takes them to Hell, he makes sure that they get there right away (there isn't much that warrants damnation). If Jack was on his list, Jack has to go.
> 
> He's got another reason too.
> 
> \- Jaya-Iti embodies Conquest and Plague. I couldn't decide.
> 
> \- Mother Nature - Pitch's daughter - will come up again. She's busy at the moment.


	3. If the Devil Wants to Entice You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> May I  
> Please you?  
> Can I  
> Break you?  
> Could I  
> Want you?  
> Would you
> 
> Enjoy it?
> 
> "Questions" - by /moi/

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter gets a bit religious, spiritual, and introspective. Controversial themes ahoy~ It's also very long. Almost 6K words. This is an achievement for me, guys.

_  
Almost all of our sorrows spring out of our relations with other people._  
 _\- Arthur Schopenhauer_

* * *

Jackson lay in bed, his eyes staring up at the ceiling of what they had told him was a workshop. It didn't look like any he'd ever seen, but then again, six-foot-tall rabbits, creatures of sand, shadow, and feathers, and a man who could speak to Snow Men weren't anything he'd ever seen, so he decided that it'd be best to go along with it; the trait for adaptation had always served him well before. He curled deeper into the blankets, shivering. They had been in the snow before so maybe he was just a few miles from where his sister and mother were. The seasons hadn't changed yet. Maybe they were in New France - that would be a fun story to tell his sister.

A fun adventure now, though, would be to find out who the frightening man was, this "Pitch Black" that had kept the Grim Reaper away.

Maybe he was still asleep, having lost consciousness when he had fallen into the ice. It made sense, since he still felt so cold.

There was a knock at the door and Jackson slowly sat up.

"Who is there?"

"... Pitch Black."

Jackson smiled, in spite of the pain that it sent to his head. He hadn't felt like a pain like this since he had gotten the yellow fever, but he couldn't help smiling.

"Come in," he called. The door opened and Jackson's smile faded a bit when he saw the sadness on the man's face. Pitch was looking at Jackson with deep, golden eyes that reflected nothing and seemed to shine with the barest trace of tears. In his hands was a lidded, translucent container, a utensil on top of it. His fingers were tense, gripping at the container as though it would shatter from exposure to the elements around them and as if he was unsure of reality.

Jackson smiled a bit wider, hoping to aid the man's nerves. He gestured to a chair by his bedside and waited for Pitch to sit down.

"Here. Some soup, to warm you," Pitch said softly, handing Jackson the metal utensil, a spoon. He took off the lid, and Jackson was amazed at how it peeled away to reveal the container. Closer now, Jackson saw that it was not glass as he had thought, but something else.

"What kind of container is that?"

Pitch blinked, as though wondering why Jackson was asking.

"It's plastic."

"'Plastic'. Why does it look like glass?" Jackson reached for the container and poked at it with the spoon. "What's it made out of? Can you make other things besides food containers with it?" Saying that, he dipped his spoon into the steaming meal, a red soup, and he raised it to his lips. "What is this? It's red and it's almost sweet, but salty."

"Tomato soup." Pitch chuckled. He brought his arm forward, laying his hand on Jackson's. He gently took the container and spoon from him. He stirred the soup, checking for its temperature most likely.

"You can make many things from plastic. Toy, tools, decorations. Many things." Jackson smiled.

"My name is Jackson Overland Frost, by the way. I don't think I told you my name earlier." He didn't expect a dark shadow to cross over the man's face, as though Jackson had been taunting him with something.

"I know."

Pitch was silent after that. Jackson spoke out loud, but he only ever nodded or shook his head. When Jackson was done with his meal of soup, Pitch took the container, ruffled Jackson's hair a bit and promptly left, the plastic container and spoon in hand.

Jackson lay back down and looked at the high arching ceiling.

"Justice... What did I do?"

 

* * *

_Jackson falls asleep again, and he falls into nightmares._

_No, terrors._

_Justice's brother was a very kind man. He often taught Jackson different things on their walks in the woods. When Father was too busy to teach Jackson, Porter Yates taught in his place. He did this only with Jackson, his sister's fiancé, and the Frostling was grateful for it. Porter often kept to himself and decided that he would be a priest, despite the entire village wondering and gently prodding at his decision._

_Jackson found nothing wrong with it; of course, he had his life planned for him whereas Porter had chosen it for himself. When Jackson asked questions, Porter answered. He was blunt and Jackson had learnt many foul words from such speech, though Porter would tell him which were foul and which he could use sparingly. When he came to ask Porter of his choice in life, he did not expect this._

_"I... want to be free."_

_Jackson, only thirteen years old, looked up at him. Freedom was new to them._

_"Freedom? What do you mean?"_

_"You know how the priest is always speaking of how we have no choice in our fate? How we will go to wherever God wishes us to be?" Porter looked at Jackson expectingly, and Jackson nodded, wanting Porter to continue._

_"Well, if we really have no choice, how is it that we choose to marry off or to get married? You and Justice are so young, how are the parents so sure of your lives?" He reached out to touch Jackson's cheek. "You two who are so young and fair yet, why must you two suffer?"_

_"We won't suffer. I like Justice and I'll grow to love her." Jackson stared into Porter's eyes as he spoke. Life and marriage were only tortures if people made them out to be; that was Father had always told him - and the old Pastor Theodore, too - and it had always sat well with him._

_"How are you two to know? You have your lives predestined by adults, who themselves have their lives predestined, according to the old Pastor," the older boy gently protested, not wanting to provoke Jackson into a quarrel. He kept his fingers on Jackson's cheek and drew shy circles over the pink cheeks._

_Jackson closed his eyes. He always liked Porter touching his face. It made him feel safe._

_He didn't expect lips to be pressed to his forehead and he - accidentally - let out a small noise when the lips left him._

_"Porter?"_

_"Jackson... I just want to be free. In any way I can."_

_Jackson stared up at Porter and leant forward to rest his head on the older boy's shoulder. He wrapped his arms around Porter and he smiled gently when the embrace was returned. He hummed softly._

_"You'll be free, then. I know you can do it, if any of us can."_

_Porter turned his face downward, burying his nose in Jackson's hair. He inhaled the scent of wool and fresh rain, as Porter would describe Jackson's scent. The rain scent would turn to snow come winter and Porter loved the scent. He'd told the Frostling himself._

_"Thank you, Jackson."_

_And the scene changed._

_All Jackson could see now was the hanging body of Porter Yates._

_Hanged for crimes of corruption… amongst other things._

 

* * *

Jackson followed after Pitch not too long after, using his staff for support as a walking stick when he felt dizzy. Opening the door, his nose was assaulted with the scents of gingerbread and various spices that he could not recognise. He smiled and closed his eyes. His heart was full of nostalgia, but excitement and curiosity made him open his eyes and begin to walk towards the banister in front of him.

He saw flashing lights contained in glass or plastic spheres, strung upon a string. They were as bright as candles, yet Jackson could not see any flames inside of them. Below the lights and all around the room below, he saw the giant creatures, the Snow Men, fur thick on their bodies and Jackson could only wonder their true name. He recalled North calling them “Yetis” though Jackson was sceptical. “Yeti” didn’t seem like a real word.

“Jack! You’re awake!” Jackson turned and saw the faerie – the Tooth Faerie – fly over to him slowly. She seemed more wary, not wanting to frighten him away.

“Good morning, madam.” He nodded his head in respect and the Faerie smiled, bringing a hand up to her mouth to cover a soft laugh.

“Just call me ‘Tooth.’ You don’t have to be formal with me.” She set herself on the floor, a few smaller faeries floating near her with their wings beating furiously. She walked over to lean against the banister. “What do you remember about last night?”

Jackson blinked twice. He hadn’t expected to be interrogated to soon, especially by beings that he had believed in as real but… He was an adult; he shouldn’t have been able to see them.

* * *

_It was Easter Sunday when Jackson saw Porter was reading the Holy Book under an oak tree on his way to visit Justice and her family. Porter looked from his reading when Jackson stood over him, the eight-year-old wondering why he was reading so intently._

_“What are you going to be when you grow up, Porter?”_

_Porter smiled, his smile bright._

_“A priest. Just like old Pastor Theodore.” He leant in closer to Jackson. “Just don’t tell him I called him ‘old,’ all right?”_

_Jackson laughed at that. Pastor Theodore was already into his late-fifties; he was ancient._

_There was a rustle in the bushes and Jackson jumped. Porter frowned at the boy’s anxiety and he stood, Jackson moving to stand behind him. His little arms held onto his crook, shaking as his hands tightened their grip._

_Suddenly, a giant creature appeared. Taller than Porter, he stood up from the bushes and towered over the two. He looked down and Jackson could see that the creature had large ears, like a rabbit._

_Today was Easter Sunday._

_“Porter,” he whispered. Porter bent down a little bit, not taking his eyes off of the rabbit. “I think that’s the Easter Bunny.”_

_Porter whipped his head around to face Jackson._

_“What? That’s the Easter Bunny?”_

_“You both can see me?” The Bunny had a thick accent, one that the boys couldn’t place, though it reminded them a bit of when the Englishmen would visit from across the sea. Rare, they were._

_“Of course we can see you,” Porter affirmed. Jackson nodded. “If you’re the Easter Bunny, why aren’t you hiding? I mean, don’t you usually hide?”_

_“I didn’t know that you could see me.” The Easter Bunny bent his legs, meeting Porter’s eyes. “You aren’t a child any-more.”_

_“I’m fifteen. I still believe in you, so I should see you still,” Porter insisted. He looked away towards the village of Burgess. “My mates, some of them are younger and they don’t believe any-more.”_

_“It happens with age.” The Easter Bunny then turned to Jackson. The boy had since put down his staff and moved to stand next to Porter rather than behind him. Jackson stepped forward and reached out a hand. The Bunny pressed his nose into the eight-year-old’s hand, inhaling deeply. Jackson wondered why he was inhaling like that, but maybe he smelt nice. He had been helped Mother bake some biscuits. “You’re a small one, aren’t you? How old are you, mate?”_

_“I’m eight. My name’s Jackson by the way!” He was beaming and his curiosity was getting overwhelming. “So Santa is real too? And the Tooth Faerie and the Sandman?”_

_The Bunny chuckled and pulled away from Jackson’s hand. He reached out a paw to ruffle Jackson’s hair, much like the boy’s father did._

_“Yes. We’re all real. Every single one of us is real.”_

_Porter laughed softly._

_“Wow. I’m never going to stop believing now.” The Bunny turned to him and smiled. Jackson couldn’t read the expression on his face. He recognised it as the expression that Father wore when Jackson promised something impossible, like bringing down the Moon so his sibling, currently inside of his mother, would be able to play with it. Jackson had done the same thing when he came down with the Yellow Jack, promising that he would feel better the next day, when the opposite had happened. It was like Father understood that it was impossible but would let Jackson keep his flights of fancy for his own sake._

_“Thank you for believing in me,” the Bunny said. He turned to Jackson. “Both of you.”_

_The Bunny disappeared and Jackson looked up at Porter._

_“Did that really happen?”_

_Porter laughed, nodding his head._

_Years would pass, and Jackson would see the Easter Bunny every year. He would wave to him and the Bunny would leave some eggs at his doorstep._

_When Jackson was fifteen, it was still the same, but Porter couldn’t see the Bunny any-more. He had stopped at seventeen. Only two years, and he had stopped believing._

_If Jackson hadn’t been careful enough at sixteen, it was because of his belief. He still kept it strong._

_On Jackson’s seventeenth birthday, he unwrapped a new cloak, myrtles and ivy decorating the dark fabric. He bit at his lips in apprehension._

_“Jack? What’s wrong?” Jackson shook his head at his mother calling his shortened name._

_“Mother, is it wrong to believe in faerie tales still? I’m going to marry Justice in two years. I’ll be a father and I am already working on the house we’ll have together-”_

_Jackson was swept into his mother’s arms, his sister holding him as well, her little face burying itself into his side._

_“You will always be my son. You’ll always be my little boy. You do no shame in believing in fantastic things. Keep your wits about you and teach your children these things too.” Mother pulled away and his sister held tightly to him before pulling away. “You’ve learnt so many things from believing in Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, and the rest-”_

_“Even the Bogeyman!” Jackson smiled as his sister made a face and held her hands up like claws. He reached for her and combed his fingers through her hair._

_“We’re not scared of him, right?” he asked, laughing when she shook her head and held up her arms like the boys that carried wooden replicas of rifles, up and high as though they were carrying water._

_Mother nodded._

_“You’ve learnt to overcome fear, and you’ve learnt to be wary around danger. You’ve seen the wonder in winter at Christmas time. Your dreams that the Sandman gives you, and the markings of time when the Tooth Faeries take your teeth away,” she gave Jack a knowing smile at that. “On Easter, we see the Resurrection of the Messiah, the hope for a new beginning.”_

_Jackson stayed silent for a moment and then wrapped his cloak about his shoulders. He tied it at his front and smiled._

_“This will be my beginning then.”_

_Mother laughed._

_“Don’t worry, love. You’re just beginning your adulthood.”_

* * *

“I remember everything. From when I woke up… To now.” Jackson, out of his memories, turned to the Faerie. “Where am I? Where is my family?”

The Tooth Faerie looked at him with sad eyes. She broke eye contact for a moment before turning back and steeling her gaze.

“They are dead, Jack. They’ve been dead for the past three hundred years.”

Jackson felt as though his heart stopped. He reached for the banister and gripped it tight. His jaw was quivering and it shouldn’t have been - _he was a man now he couldn’t be scared or sad because bad things happened when he wasn’t happy_ \- so shocking for him. Everything looked so new and advanced compared to where he was from, so why should it surprise him so? He felt the Faerie’s hand on his and the shaking of his jaw grew into tremors that racked his entire body. He let his staff slip from his hand, could hear Father yelling at him to pick it up, and a sound that was half-way between a sob and a laugh escaped his throat.

“Jack!” The Tooth Faerie’s other hand came to rest on his cheek. Perhaps she didn’t understand the intimacy of the gesture. Jackson remembered how Justice cradled his cheek and he could feel his knees buckle, the Faerie quickly moving to aid him to the ground.

“Everyone?” He grimaced slightly at the sound of his voice. It was small and cracking.

“Yes. Your village – Burgess, right? – is still there. But everyone you knew,” she said soothingly. Her hand was stroking the back of his head, much like Mother did after he had had a nightmare.

 _Everything is gone_ , Jack thought. _Everyone…_

His eyes widened.

 _Justice_.

His tremors stopped suddenly. Realisation flooded through Jackson’s body. That was why the Grim Reaper had come for him. He was supposed to be dead, along with Justice.

 _Until Death do we part_.

He stood, pushing the faerie away as gently as he could in his state. He mumbled an apology which was waived.

“Jack. Calm down. Think.” The Faerie wrapped her arms around him again and Jackson couldn’t think to struggle.

“Remember.”

* * *

_“Calm down. Think. Remember.”_

_Old Pastor Theodore was glaring at him, Jackson mentally processed. He was glaring and angry and Jackson was in such trouble. He was kneeling on the floor, sitting back on his feet. The mild pain and discomfort in the position distracted him for a moment before the pastor’s voice rocked through his thoughts._

_“Why did Porter do that, Jackson? Do you remember him talking about it? Any plan, remarks?”_

_Jackson shook his head. The bruise on his head from the butt of the handle of the weapon that Porter had… He couldn’t really think._

_No-one talked about things like that. Perhaps that was why he couldn’t remember why he had been there when Porter had raised the axe. Perhaps, Jackson thought, Justice was why, now that he thought about it._

_“She had bruises.”_

_“Who did?”_

_“Justice has bruises… Everywhere. On her hands, her arms, her legs…”_

_Pastor Theodore stood back and chuckled incredulously._

_“Her father has every right to punish her. Commandment four: ‘Thou shalt honour thy mother and father’.”_

_Jackson looked up at him. Porter had told him so many things… So many, because he wanted to be a priest._

_“‘Fathers, do not exasperate your children; instead, bring them up in the training and instruction of the Lord.’ Ephesians. Chapter six.” Jackson lowered his head at the fury in the pastor’s eyes. “Verse four.”_

_“Child, do you know you speak against a man of God?”_

_“Father… He was beating her severely. She had a broken arm! It’s why I go to help them with their crops after I assist my mother-” Jackson received a clout to the head, one that left his ears ringing. He was thrown forwards, his stomach hitting the floor. He stayed still, knowing that if he provoked the man further, Jackson might not be able to walk home tonight. He heard the pastor moving things behind him. Jackson cringed slightly when the sounds of clutter ceased, and the pastor’s footsteps led to a spot behind him, behind his sprawled body on the floor._

_“You think yourself so versed in the word of the Lord? ‘Do not withhold discipline from a child; if you strike him with a rod, he will not die.’ This is so, Proverb Chapter twenty-three, Verse thirteen.” Jackson had his breath knocked out of him. The object he was hit against the back with was strong, sturdy, and it felt so heavy. It might have been metal._

_“F-father-”_

_“Speak not! You are a child still, no matter that you are sixteen and you will marry in a few years more. Your father made me promise that you would not diverge from your path,” Jackson heard from Pastor Theodore’s voice. He turned his head around slightly as his shirt was ripped from his body, leaving him cold._

_It was only the day of Quasimodo._

_“I will not allow this heretic corrupt you further. You, who are the shepherd, follow God more closely than the rest of us. You shall not be corrupted any longer by that man._

_“I do this, in your father’s name.”_

_Jackson only hoped that Porter would be forgiven, that Justice would be healthy, and that his family would ignore the blood that would be running down his back when he walked home._

* * *

“I remember… What do you want me to remember, madam?” His voice was not above a whisper.

The Faerie stiffened.

“Just call me ‘Tooth’.”

“What should I remember, Tooth?”

“What your family was like. Ignore all of the bad things for right now.” Jackson heard footsteps behind him and he curled tighter against Tooth, trying to focus on her voice. “Remember your holidays and your dreams… Your family.”

“I don’t… I don’t deserve them.” Jackson pushed up to gaze into Tooth’s eyes. “I don’t deserve to remember my sister, or my mum. I… They did everything for me after it happened, after I…

“I could’ve stopped him!” Jackson felt tears coming out of his eyes. “I could’ve stopped Porter and I could have just- Just kept quiet about it all! Then no-one would’ve hated my Justice! They wouldn’t have hurt her-”

“Jack, calm down.” Tooth’s voice was grounding, so much like Mother’s voice, and it calmed him suddenly. “Explain.”

“He was my friend… Justice, his sister, my… my bride-to-be.” He was shaking. “We weren’t in love, but it was planned and we had no say. Porter was going to be a priest, but…” He couldn’t stop shaking! “I told my sister I had to help Porter with something, I think the few animals that they had, and I should have stopped Porter from picking up the axe and-”

He looked away from Tooth’s violet eyes for a moment before looking back again. They held no judgement.

“There was so much blood… and I was so scared.”

Tooth cradled Jackson’s cheek again and he closed his eyes. Her fingers were cool on his heated face, fingers wiping away his tears.

“Porter killed someone, and you saw. Why did he do it?”

“Their father beat Justice, my sweet Justice who always listened and was always a good girl. He broke her arm once and Mother did everything she could to help it stay like the doctor said to. No-one else knows the rest.”

“You do, Jack,” Tooth whispered. “You know the rest and it’s hurting you.”

The words were stuck in his mind, and against his will, they made their way to his throat. No, it would hurt! If Justice was dead, he was still her friend and he would protect her memory. He was shaking his head-

“It’s best to.” Jackson turned around, Tooth’s hand still on his face, and he looked up to see Pitch Black standing there. He remembered his mother’s words, about belief.

“Are you the Bogeyman?” Pitch’s eyes widened, disbelief and something else flashing in his golden eyes. He nodded.

“I believe in you,” Jackson said. “Though, I was never really scared of you. Mother; She always said that you helped children, that you made sure that we were wary and lived with prudence.”

Jackson laughed slightly.

“You’re like a shepherd, keeping his flock. A guardian.”

He chuckled still to himself.

Pitch reached out a hand to Jackson, hesitant. The boy stared at the grey hand, but he reached and grasped it firmly, pulling away from Tooth. He turned to her as he stood and thanked her.

“I cry about stupid things sometimes,” he explained, wiping his eyes with his forearm. The shirt that they had gotten for him was thin and easily grew soaked with his tears.

Tooth shook her head and reached down, picking up his crook.

“You don’t cry because you’re weak or you’re stupid, Jack.” She held it out to him. He felt calmer, now that it was in his grasp. “You cry because it meant something to you, and seeing something like that changes the world.”

He nodded and held his staff tightly.

“Try.” Jackson looked up to the Bogeyman at his word. Silent, he listened as Pitch continued. “It will hurt, Jackson, but you have to expose the wound before you try to clean it, before you can even think of healing it.”

“Pitch,” another voice said, and Jackson noticed the Easter Bunny, the Sandman, and North standing behind Pitch, faces in slight worry. The Bunny had spoken and Jackson felt a happy fire light itself in his heart.

When everything had been so innocent still, the Bunny had proven himself real. Seeing the bandages on the Bunny made him even more so. That had cemented Jackson’s belief for his lifetime.

“Pitch, I think Jack needs to heal a bit more before he talks about something like this.” The Sandman nodded in agreement, little figures of golden sand rising above his head. Jackson couldn’t interpret them, but Pitch held his hand more tightly as the figures went on. When they stopped, the Bogeyman placed his other hand on Jackson’s shoulder.

It was strange, to feel so safe again, like he had whenever he was with Porter. Jackson could remember seeing the madness in his friend’s eyes.

But the Bogeyman had shown his wrath. He had been told that the damage done to the Easter Bunny had been done by Pitch, and when he had asked earlier, Pitch affirmed the thought with a silent nod. No hesitation.

There was so much care in how he held Jackson, that he felt safe.

“I’ll try.” Everyone turned to him. “I-I want to try.”

He looked up to Pitch – why was he so damn tall? – and he saw the smallest of smiles on the Bogeyman’s face. His heart beat against his chest and Jackson felt excitement run its course through his body.

“We’ll help you every step of the way.”

The Bogeyman’s eyes were the saddest Jackson had ever seen on anyone.

* * *

After telling his tale, Jackson was left kneeling over a sick bowl, heaving slightly. He hadn’t vomited yet, but it made him feel better to hold the bowl in his hands.

Tooth was tittering to her faeries, asking them to look for herbs for settle his stomach and to help his memories settle.

Bunny – _Bunnymund_ – and North were speaking of how they could find him a place to stay should he leave the Workshop, not that he had to.

Sandman – _Sandy_ – was giving him a small, steady stream of sand, having it sink into his hand to soothe him. He was Daydreaming, and he closed his eyes to see his sister. Dear God, his sister, who had grown without an older brother, was a strong woman in his dreams. He could feel a brush from Sandy’s mind that this was not a daydream, not really, but something that Jackson had shown him as this other spirit…

 _Jack Frost_.

Pitch had told him his new name, and he hadn’t elaborated. It seemed to hurt him, something Jackson understood.

Sandy let go of his hand just as the sound of a horse’s hooves made themselves against the tiles. Bunny, Tooth, and North all grew silent as well. Jackson opened his eyes and saw a black horse composed of blackened sand, eyes golden. It was like Sandy’s sand, but it was darker and it almost made Jackson scared…

If it had not excited him.

Jackson set the bowl down and he stood shakily. Pitch appeared beside the horse and looked at Jackson.

“She is yours, if you want her.” Jackson blinked.

“Really? She… Is she yours?”

Pitch approached him and stood rather close. Still, Jackson felt no discomfort or threat to his safety, so he did not move.

“You don’t recall, but everything I own, it all belongs to you.” Pitch raised a hand and rested it on his shoulder. “She is yours, if you want her. Anything I have that you need, I will give to you until you no longer want.”

Jackson felt his cheeks heat up. He shouldn’t be blushing, this was a man. A spirit, but a male nonetheless.

Why did it feel right?

“Pitch, get away from him!” Bunny dashed forward and pushed Pitch away, standing between him and Jackson.

“Bunny!” Tooth exclaimed. “Leave them alone!”

Bunny turned to her, seeing her actually brandishing her blades.

“Tooth. You saw what Pitch did to him-”

“Pitch said that it wasn’t him, and I believe him.”

Jackson shook his head at the confrontation in front of him and quickly sidestepped, wanting to see the mare.

“What’s her name?” he asked, coming closer and petting the sandy nose, amazed at its warmth and her reaction of closing her eyes and making happy noises.

Pitch stood next to him and smiled.

“Name her.” Jackson turned to him.

“Do you know about Norse Gods? They were myths my parents told me when I was quite small.”

“Yes.”

“Her name shall be… Skadi.” Jackson turned to Pitch, a mischievous grin on his face. “You’re all shadowy and I’m Jack Frost right? Or I was. I’m guessing I had something to do with winter. Skadi controls both of those things.

“It’s like we fit together.”

He didn’t expect Pitch to seize his body and hold him close, as though he would disappear. The fighting stopped and Jackson turned to the other four spirits, taking in their looks of surprise.

“Pitch?”

“How are you so strong?” The question was a whisper, and it made Jackson’s heart crumble. He couldn’t think of any words to say and he just returned Pitch’s embrace. He shuddered when lips touched his neck and warmth flooded his body, welcomed.

“Can you and I talk? Just us, Bogeyman?”

“Jack, I don’t think that’s-”

Pitch pulled away from Jackson, glaring at North, who had spoken.

“I just said that he would want nothing, have need of nothing, if I could give it to him.” He turned back and reached out for Jackson’s hand.

Jackson looked at the hand and looked up to Pitch’s eyes. The golden eyes were looking for something in Jackson’s eyes, and they looked at him with such concern and fear and anxiety…

_What’s that other thing?_

“You don’t have to, Jackson.”

Jackson grasped the hand, holding tightly.

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

Jackson smiled.

“For letting me be with you alone.” He sighed. “And for not calling me ‘Jack.’ I know I’m not your Jack, even if I was, and maybe, if I remember, I can be him again. But not now. Thank you for letting me to be me.”

Shadows covered them, and Skadi, and the three were gone.

* * *

_“You want to be you?” Thirteen-year-old Jackson never understood Porter so well, and these abstract ideas were making his head hurt._

_“Think about it. God knows you. He’s known you since the beginning and he has always loved you.” Porter looked up to the sky, seeing a pattern of geese fly overhead._

_Jackson smiled._

_“I want someone to love me for me. Someone else.”_

_Porter chuckled._

_“You and Justice both. Maybe you’ll love each other one day.”_

_Jackson never said that he wished that he was engaged to Porter instead._

* * *

Pitch and Jackson sat on the mattress that Pitch said that Jack Frost had slept upon. The human admired the sheets, a deep grey that reflected blue in the scarce amount of light.

Jackson rolled over the covers.

“We never had things like this, almost magical.” He snuggled into the blankets. “Where did Jack get these?”

Pitch was silent for a moment.

“From me.”

“Pitch?” Jackson asked, sitting and turning to the taller man. “May I ask, why does talking about Jack make you sad? Were you two very close?”

Pitch nodded. Nothing else.

Jackson sighed through his nose, looking down.

“We were…” Jackson looked up, hoping that Pitch would continue. “Close your eyes.”

Jackson stammered a few moments.

“My eyes?”

“Please.” There was desperation there. Jackson nodded and closed his eyes.

Nothing happened for a while, and then lips pressed themselves against his. Jackson felt a shock run through his body and he pressed himself against Pitch. His body felt as though over a pleasant flame that reached all over his body. It was familiar. He was frightened a bit, and as the emotion came through him, Pitch pressed his lips more urgently to Jackson’s.

Jackson pulled away, for breath, but he felt his hands begin to move, clasping Pitch’s neck and keeping him close, moving to encourage him as Pitch’s mouth began to wander, delivering fragile kisses to his jaw and under his ears and over his neck; Jackson let him put kisses everywhere, his mouth opening in relaxation and for air because it just wasn’t getting into his body, wasn’t cooling him down from the burning flame inside of him.

“Pitch,” he called out, pulling the Bogeyman up. Lips enclosed his bottom lip and suckled on it, the action sending energy to a very specific part of Jackson’s anatomy that prompted him to move his hips, looking for friction.

“Pitch, Pitch, Pitch…”

It was a mantra. Jackson felt safe, even as Pitch pushed him down into the mattress, the covers no longer as neat as before. He felt safe, even when his clothes were pulled off of his body and he was as bare as he was the day he was born. This was familiar and Jackson raised his arms from Pitch’s neck, holding them above his head to allow the spirit to move as he wished.

He still didn’t open his eyes.

“You’re not scared any-more, Jackson.”

“I feel so safe with you, Pitch.” He moaned softly as hands came to caress his face. “You… You offered to be my family didn’t you? In a place where everything was ice and snow.”

Pitch kissed his forehead and Jackson could feel him nod.

“I… Pitch, I don’t remember everything, but I remember this.” Jackson raised a hand to his face to touch Pitch’s hand, moving up along his arm to cradle Pitch’s cheek. “Pitch, I have never felt this. Never.”

“Even towards Justice?”

Jackson shook his head and said, “I was possessive, because of fealty and friendship, but not this, Pitch.

“I felt it last night, when you protected me from the Reaper and from the cold with your shadows. I care not what you’ve done, but your intentions… Pitch, may I open my eyes?”

“Of course.” Jackson opened his eyes and looked to Pitch’s gaze. “Jackson-”

“I’m not your Jack Frost, but Pitch… I don’t want to be compared. I just want permission to love you again.”

His lips were quickly covered, the kiss even more passionate than before. Hands were grasping, clawing, stroking, and Jackson could swear that the world was destroying itself from the ferocity of their passion. Soon, Pitch was naked as well and Jackson was making marks all over him, claiming and holding him close.

“Jackson, I’m not letting you go ever again. Never,” Pitch whispered and Jackson could feel tears spreading over his cheek.

“Never let me go.”

* * *

They went to sleep, no more than kissing done, but Pitch would not allow him to be overwhelmed. He sent Skadi to communicate with the Sandman, to tell him that Jackson was all right.

Jackson was curled against him. He was different from his Jack, but the soul was the same. It was bright and passionate and so full of pain and strength.

He'd never let him go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Schopenhauer~
> 
> *Porter (Latin name) - Gatekeeper
> 
> *Predestination - From the Protestant branch of the Christianity Tree, Calvinism was founded on the idea that God had already determined your destiny of going to Heaven or Hell. No amount or degree of good deeds could change His mind.
> 
> *Quasimodo - The Sunday after Easter, the 8th day after Lent ends. ((The Hunchback of Notre Dame was found on this day. It means "as if in [this] manner"))
> 
> *Skadi - This mythological figure has already been featured. She's never going to leave me alone, I swear.


	4. Let Him Gain His Earnings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heat, snarling, belief  
> The Devil's domain in heart  
> Or God's cruelest gifts?
> 
> Reaper takes the crops  
> But why not take the earnings?  
> Are they for me then?
> 
> Cruelest of mothers  
> Lonely in the exile of Time  
> Have mercy on Grace
> 
> Grace, the e'er lonely  
> Save your tears, small chil', save them  
> Be strong on this trip

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was watching something on Charles Manson earlier today. I daresay it's an influence at the moment. ::nervous glances to autopsy shows::
> 
> Sexy times in this chapter :3 Also animal love and death.

_Each day is a little life: every waking and rising a little birth, every fresh morning a little youth, every going to rest and sleep a little death._   
_\- Arthur Schopenhauer_

* * *

Jackson awoke to utter darkness and he was smiling. Pitch had touched him most intimately and lovingly. It must be love, yes; why else would the man be so protective and why would he have kissed Jackson as though he were precious air to breathe? The young man took to examining the Bogeyman by touch, the soft pads of his fingertips identifying high cheek bones, soft black hair, and slightly pointed ears that made Jackson wonder if the spirit was not some fae that God allowed him to make contact with and to fall in love with.

He had never wanted such a thing from Justice. Neither from Porter, that love most likely from admiration of a younger boy following another.

Jackson wanted Pitch to touch him, perhaps beyond the kissing. That was already so sensual and Pitch had brought up the possibility of more! He could feel even better and it was making his heart race. The very  _thought_! It made his cheeks become heated and Jackson knew that his face must be red from embarrassment. He knew that women often felt this way of their men, wanting them against them and pressing fingers curiously-

Jackson pulled away from Pitch completely, his fingers having traced the shell of the spirit's ear once again. He jerked away so roughly that he tumbled off of the bed, the stone floor cold and unforgiving in his fall. He hissed in pain and then moved to cover his mouth as to not wake Pitch.

"Jackson, come back to bed."

There was movement and Jackson flinched and relaxed as Pitch's hand cupped his cheek. He hummed in pleasure, leaning into the pale hand, and moved closer to him. He opened his mouth and moaned lewdly - it would put even the whore from Danvers to shame - as Pitch slipped his thumb into Jackson's eager mouth. He crawled back up to meet with Pitch's lips, the spirit's thumb trapped between their mouths.

Pitch pulled away and eased Jackson back up onto the bed, holding the boy close. Jackson could still feel desperation behind his grasp. He leant against his hands, letting them tighten and become tight like a wood worker's clamps. They were gentle, however.

_Is the Bogeyman scared?_

"Pitch? I'm here. I'm not a dream."

Pitch shuddered against him and a warm mouth pressed to his neck, lips opening and teeth tracing over his pulse gentle. A tongue pressed in their place soon after, hot and wet, terribly eager. Jackson bit his lip when Pitch pulled away.

"I had a dream, that you weren't and Jack wasn't either," Pitch whispered, words soft against his cheeks. "I'm haunted, by the thought of not having you near."

Jackson whimpered, the sound torn from his throat. He pushed at Pitch, pressing the other down to the mattress. He listened to Pitch's sounds, soft and needy. Instead of responding, he bent down and pressed kisses to the Bogeyman's forehead, cheeks, chin, everything he had explored with amazed hands and now did so with his lips, tongue sneaking out to mark claim. A hand came to bury itself in his dark hair, its grip still so hesitant.

_Stop!_

"I'm here, Pitch..." Jackson whispered, his breath hot against Pitch's abdomen. He trailed a hand down over Pitch's hip and dared to slowly go further inwards. Pitch hissed as Jackson's hand made contact with his erection.

"Jackson-" Pitch choked, a sound dying in his throat as the human began to stroke him softly.

"Should I stop?"

"No... please," Jackson heard in such a soft whisper that he was prompted to reach up with his other hand to touch Pitch's face.

There were tears.

"Pitch, don't you believe that I'm here? Believe in me?"

Kisses were pressed to his hand, Pitch's hips rolling up into his hand. Jackson shivered and stroked faster, still gentle. This was new. No-one dared to indulge in this type of pleasure with themselves. He only remembered what some of the other boys said when they met the whore from Danvers. He tried to be even more gentle, more slow than they said she was, becoming hard as well. When Pitch groaned out Jackson's name, sounding lost in lust, the strokes became more deliberate, their only goal to bring Pitch to pleasure and to make him forget the world for a while.

"Jackson," Pitch called and the boy leant to press his lips to his, getting chills when Pitch reached between them to stroke Jackson.

"Pitch," was a breath, echoed in kind by Jackson's name in the air. Their voices degraded into gentle moans, hushes in the dark. Hand slick with pre-spend, Pitch squeezed hard around Jackson and the boy rolled his hips into the touch. His body was relaxing and tensing sporadically, as thought unsure of accepting the pleasure. He hissed, his breath coming into his lungs in quick bursts. His body felt like it was burning up, at Pitch's mercy. 

When Pitch moved to sit up, however, Jackson felt the hand slip away, leaving him shocked. His jaw was moving, trying to form words, wanting to ask what he'd done wrong. A finger came to rest on his bottom lip.

Sticky as it was, Jackson hesitated for a moment before putting his tongue out to taste it. It was an acidic, almost sweet taste, and he shivered at the sinfulness of it. The small fear, that he realised would always be with him as memories of his previous life, made energy and excitement run along the length of his spine, his lips moving to wrap around the finger and suckle on its tip, nursing it.

Pitch was groaning in front of him and Jackson squeezed around the base of his cock, bringing out another guttural moan. The finger slipped from his lips and was replaced by Pitch's mouth again. They kissed and separated in quick succession, Jackson managing to catch whispers of "here" and "real," words making his heart swell. He heard his own name, never Frost, only Overland. His chest felt tight, heart beating wildly against his ribcage.

_This could only be love._

Pitch pushed his hand away and pressed an open kiss to Jackson's neck.

"We stop now... or I might not want to, Jackson."

He frowned, still dazed. Jackson did want this; did Pitch not want to? It didn't seem like he'd done anything wrong. It was as though Pitch was coming apart in his arms and Jackson could only bring this whole of intimacy to fruition if he said so plainly. The fears were still in his mind, however. They'd always be.

_I look just like him._

"Pitch, I'll tell you if it's too much, but only do it because it's me." He caught a flash of golden irises before seeing them disappear in the dark again. Pitch placed a hand back on Jackson, the one that had not been touching him, and the boy moaned in pleasured relief, pressing his body to Pitch, feeling a striking need for closeness, friction, a base instinct. "Pitch, please. Only you."

_I've only felt this way about you!_

"Your thoughts," Pitch whispered into his ear, the still sticky hand making contact with Jackson’s ass. His fingers made a slick trail to his anus, the sensation making Jackson tense for a moment. “They’re so loud. You love me dearly, don’t you?”

The tip of Pitch’s finger drew circles around the small entrance when Jackson nodded.

“I’m nervous, though,” he whispered, taking his hand from Pitch’s cock and gripping to the black bed sheets with both as the finger breached him, very little of it making its way into him before his muscles tense.

“Shush, it’s all right.” Pitch pushed him down onto his side, lavishing his neck with kisses. Jackson hid his face in the covers, hands threatening to tear the sheets. “Keep breathing, deep breaths.” He ushered Jackson’s legs to be bent, knees to his shoulders. “Just relax. I’ll take care of you, little lamb.”

Pitch moved away for a moment, Jackson whimpering. He didn’t want Pitch to leave him at all! A hand caressed his lower leg and he relaxed. He had never yearned for physical contact as a boy, preferring the feel of grass against his bare feet. The feeling of someone touching him, so intimately, like the finger – _fingers_ – inside of him, was foreign to him. The heat was a mystery, the heat of Pitch inside of him, and Jackson was babbling incoherently, only saying Pitch’s name clearly, as they were making love, Jackson’s leg over Pitch’s shoulder and head thrown back, overwhelmed.

Once he realised that, that this tangle of kisses and limbs reaching out of each other, it was love making, Jackson laughed softly, tangling his fingers in Pitch’s hair. Pitch pressed in deeper, and the laugh became a cry as he was struck against some part of himself that drove a wave of energy through him.

“Again!” Jackson thrust his hips towards Pitch, and his lover pushed back just as hard. He didn’t last much longer before the heat had risen beyond the point he could tolerate, absolutely dizzy with the thought of having Pitch there.

“I can’t! Pitch-“

“Let go, lamb,” Pitch crooned, holding Jack closer.

_So little time._

“Pitch-“

Pitch groaned and bit at Jackson’s lips, moving a hand to Jackson’s cock and gripping firmly at the base. Jackson stared into fold for a second before white exploded in his vision, each of Pitch’s thrusts aiming for that spot what threw Jackson once again into incoherence. Nothing was words – it was only feelings and stinging pleasure and pressure and passion and so much love. Pitch was drawn into the haze that Jackson was trapped in, and both were begging, their hands stiffened into greedy claws.

Jackson threw a hand over Pitch’s hand, letting his thumb travel the head of his own cock. It was wickedly sticky.

“Please, love?” His throat was paining him. “You… Let go, too.”

Pitch nodded and took his hand off of Jackson. There was a moment of pure ecstasy and black filled Jackson’s vision.

He was filled with warmth, and Pitch whispered to him.

“Sleep, Jackson. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

So he slept.

* * *

Skadi was licking at his cheeks when Jackson awoke. Pitch was rubbing his back, murmuring.

Jackson smiled as snowflakes of miniscule shadows tickled his cheeks. He sweetly pushed Skadi away, giggling. She wickered at him, mischievous.

“Are you in pain, Jackson?” He turned his head to look in Pitch’s direction and shook his head.

“I feel really good.” Jackson felt his cheeks redden and he hid in the sheets.

Pitch chuckled about him, rubbing his head. “Are you shy again?

“Can… Can we do that again?”

“Do what, Jackson?”

Jackson whined softly.

“Make love again?” The hand rubbing his head tangled into his short hair, massaging his scalp.

“Again, and again, and again, my lamb.” Pitch sounded so soft and determined, but Jackson couldn’t figure out what he could be thinking about.

“Um, should we tell North where we are?” He thought of the jolly man and how caring he was towards him, despite him being wary and slightly distrustful at the time.

“I sent Skadi to tell the Guardians, but you can go to see them.” Pitch ruffled his hair before pulling away. “I have something to attend to.”

“What about?”

“May I keep this personal, love?”

Jackson moved to sit up, carefully. He was sore in his lower back, but he stayed silent.

“… If it could impact you, to the point of having you make decisions that might hurt you, could you tell me please? Please?”

Pitch cupped his cheek and kissed his forehead. “Of course.”

* * *

"Niry-A-Na!" Pitch would be voiceless, he had thought, by the time he found the Horseman of Death. Jackson was with North, far away from the Horseman, and safe. The Reaper, in the form of a woman, was on a ranch, the desert about the area bringing a smile to the Horseman's face.

Or perhaps it was the presence of flowers at his feet.

Niry-A-Na turned around and smiled at him. "Hello, Bogeyman."

Pitch came close, shadows gathering in his hands. He raised a hand to strike, pausing as the Reaper held out his hands in a gesture of surrender. The shadows faded away, allowing Pitch to come towards the Horseman unarmed.

That fact did not stop him from picking up Niry-A-Na by the shirt, leaving him to dangle by the grip that Pitch had on him. Pale, skeletal hands came to grab at his fingers, the older spirit's jaw set in a form of determination.

"Why do you want Jack, Niry-A-Na?"

"Niry."

Pitch frowned. His teeth were clenched together, but the voice that just spoke was as soft as the voice that had asked to be called 'Jackson' the day before.

"Niry, why do you want my Jack?" He cursed in his thoughts, his voice just as soft.

The hands around his were shaking, their grip fierce. Pitch could only wonder if everyone that met with the Reaper had to see a loved one in him.

"A child."

Pitch lowered his arms, hands still tight on Niry's shirt. His eyes looked into Niry's, looking for more explanation. Nothing could be reflected back, the spirit's eyes too dark for that, but they were red, as though the Reaper had been crying.

"I wanted a child," he whispered. Niry turned his head to the desert, making a jerk with his head to prompt Pitch to look as well. Pitch looked and saw a man on horseback several metres away.

"Who is that?"

"Dur-Bihk Sa," Niry said. "My elder brother... He killed the plants in some area of Creation towards the beginning, creating the first desert. He and my sisters are the first bringers of Death, my birth delayed. They, sadly, can do what I cannot."

Dur-Bihk Sa, stepping down from his black horse, extended his gloved hands to the ground. Pitch watched as the plants around them withered, the animals hiding in them scurrying out. The purple flowers faded away into a deathly brown. Two kit foxes, Pitch noticed, were holding close together. One's belly was swollen in a rather healthy manner, Pitch able to see as her limbs were of a healthy thickness.

"It's with child." The small mammal was whimpering, her mate licking at her face to soothe her. He, however, couldn't stand. He was weak, his limbs thin and stomach swollen in hunger. Pitch could feel a basal fear from him, but it was not for his own life. It was for his offspring's. 

The foxes crooned at each other until the reynard silenced himself and bared his neck. Pitch froze as the female revealed her fangs and buried them into her mate, flesh ripping and blood staining itself red-

Pitch turned away, reminded all too well of how he had tore open Bunnymund in the snow.

"Keep looking, Pitchiner," Niry whispered, hands becoming gentle on his.

"I-I can't." Jackson had seen the same, a brutal death.

"Watch. It will be beautiful."

"Beautiful? How can..?" Pitch took a deep breath. He turned to see the vixen licked at the slightly open muzzle of her mate. She turned and continued to eat his flesh, the muscle and sinew tearing under her sharp jaw movements, and Pitch felt fear from her.

Fear for her offspring.

Fear for what would happen once Death came to take the spirit of her reynard.

Fear - no, anticipation - for the future, because her offspring were kicking her strongly, and she felt hope.

"Do you feel that, Pitch?" Niry was rubbing his thumbs over his knuckles, pads of his fingers terribly soft. "Famine, War, Conquest and Pestilence, all can give birth. I cannot." His female form faded to that of the figure that Jack had described to him, the man in the forest. "We are the Pains of Humanity, against Mortality, but I am the most painful. See, now, though, how beautiful it is! Out of Famine, the kits will live and continue on the reynard's legacy. The vixen shall remember that she did what was necessary and raise her kits with the legacy of strength and sacrifice-"

"Jackson gave his life for his sister, returned as Jack Frost, and now you dare take him from me again?" Pitch launched himself at the Horseman, shadows engulfing them.

A hand latched onto Pitch’s shoulder and pulled him off of Niry. Pitch came face-to-face with Dur-Bihk Sa. The Horseman growled at him, his teeth sharp. His irises were red with bloodlust, his pupils blown wide.

“You dare attack the youngest of the Lord?” The voice settled in Pitch’s mind, a firm stone in his mind that managed to push the shadows away, deep into his soul.

“He’s taking Jackson from me again,” Pitch sputtered out, the words pulled from him.

“‘The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away.’ Best to learn this now, one who is like Chamuel.” Dur-Bihk Sa closed his eyes and placed his other hand on Pitch’s head, keeping their gazes locked together.

“May you find yourself, you starved of love.”

Pitch could not bring himself to scream as the Shadows burst out from his heart, making him recall the moment they entered him.

_“Daddy!”_

* * *

Jackson bit his lip, stroking Skadi’s mane. Pitch had been gone for two days already. They had gotten dressed, gotten something for Jackson to eat, and came to the Workshop. They hadn’t had contact since.

“Anxious?”

Jackson turned and saw North. He nodded.

“Pitch hasn’t come back. Not even Skadi has sensed anything from him.” The mare licked at his cheek, trying to soothe her master. She made a voice deep in her throat, wanting to comfort him.

“Do not worry, Jackson. He will be back soon. He loves you.” North ruffled his hair and Jackson thought of his father.

“I know he does. He wouldn’t tell me where he was going, though. Marriage can’t be that different than from what I remember,” he insisted. His grip was shifting on his crook, trying to stay calm. “I want to be there for him, to support him. I don’t want him to have to face anything alone.”

North hummed, contemplative.

“You’ve been lonely before, haven’t you?”

Jackson nodded. “I didn’t… Fit in, exactly, when I lived in the village.”

“Well, you’re unique, Jackson. Very special, as you’ve always been.” North smiled as though remembering something. “You were nine when you asked for something for your sister. A new, thick blanket.”

The boy nodded. She’d been so small and they didn’t have anything to keep her as warm as she needed to be.

“Most kids think of what they want, they think what they need. You, always different, and Pitch knows this. It is why he loves you so. He isn’t making you lonely on purpose. He’s spent enough time alone, too. He is solitary at times, not to hurt you.” North chuckled, mentioning something about mistletoe.

“Thank you, North.” Jackson stepped forward and embraced him. North patted his back, chuckling.

A frightened neigh interrupted them and Jackson turned to Skadi only to see her disappear. The shadows disappeared and as she faded, Skadi turned to face Jackson, her golden eyes lit with fright.

“Skadi?!”

Jackson felt his heart give in on itself. His head was aching and he fell to the floor.

“Jackson!” North was shouting things in Russian and in that Yeti-language, but Jackson couldn’t beat the noise.

“Jackson, stay awake. Don’t sleep! You have to-”

“North…”

* * *

_“Jackson!” Jackson was only a boy._

_The wolf was tearing apart their horse, the one that helped him round up the sheep. Jackson was holding onto the youngest lamb, shaking in fright. He prayed to God and asked for protection, for the Bogeyman to save him._

_His father John was standing in front of him, taking a defensive stance. His left arm was completely severed from his side and he was still defending his son._

_“Father?”_

_“Boy, we have to leave Thiazi behind. Run!”_

_They ran and ran… and soon, they were at the Pastor’s home._

_“Father Theodore!” The Pastor helped John and Jackson inside. The farmers were on their way to kill the wolf, though it had run off by the time they found Thiazi’s body._

_“Jack, I’m sorry. The doctor won’t be able to get here fast enough.”_

_“Thank you… Father, take care of my son,” John said as he stroked Jackson’s hair. Jackson remembered Mother running in with his sister in her arms, her hair down in frenzy. They spoke hurriedly and, after a few minutes, turned to Jackson._

_“Jackson,” John said – Father was so quiet now, blood on his lips. “You need to do something for me, you understand?”_

_He only nodded._

_“Don’t be lonely. The Lord’s with you, and with anyone you meet. You’re the shepherd now, and…” John coughed and Jackson had tears dripping off of his chin. “Don’t cry, angel. Can you remember what I tell you at night, the Verse?”_

_Jackson nodded._

_“Th-The Lord is my Shepherd; I shall not… want,” he whispered from memory, his father smiling at him and kissing his hands in praise. By the time Jackson was finished, John was breathing his last breaths._

_“Don’t cry. Laugh… Have fun, Jack. Don’t… feel lonely. Fall in love.”_

_Jackson had never felt lonelier than the day his father passed away._

* * *

“Or so I thought,” Jackson murmured as he felt into unconsciousness in North’s hold.

_Pitch._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summary Poem) Grace - Ties into Jackson's name
> 
> A) Lamb - connection to Jackson's job as a shepherd, Pitch being called a shepherd by Jackson, and to the constant mention of lambs in the Bible.
> 
> B) Dur-Bihk Sa is the Horseman of Famine. See Revelations 6:5-6.
> 
> B-1) In the story I'm writing of the Horsemen, the brothers Dur-Bihk Sa and Niry-A-Na, and their relationship as siblings and with their sisters, are the focus. 
> 
> C) Desert - This is the Spahn Ranch, the primary residence of the "Manson Family," located in Southern California.  
> 


End file.
